


Promises Kept and Broken

by 13thSyndicate



Category: Akatsuki no Yona | Yona of the Dawn
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Feels, really sad, spoilers for 100+, zeno birthday fic 2016, zeno hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-11 21:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7908976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/13thSyndicate/pseuds/13thSyndicate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zeno will never forget the birthday he spent with 'that special someone'.</p><p>Written for Zeno's birthday at the encouragement of the AkaYona chat. Blame them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promises Kept and Broken

She was watching him, he knew, and he turned her the bright, happy smile that _she_ knew he only used when he was in a particular sort of pain. There were things he hid from her, things she knew he always would. When he smiled that smile, Kaya knew that Zeno, whoever he really was, was hiding from her again.

He was sitting out oon the grass, staring up at the sky, clutching that amulet he was so afraid to lose so tightly his already-pale knuckles were white with effort, and before he’d turned that smile on her she saw a look of so much pain across his face that she couldn’t help but run to him. This strange boy, who refused to leave her side, this strange man, her… _husband_ (though who knew how long until he became a widower?) that she cared about so much. She nearly tripped – _did_ trip – and she fell right into his arms.

“Kaya?” he asked, blinking. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t be silly,” she said, covering her mouth to cough for a moment from exertion and the thin fall air. It was more than a moment, much more, and he held her through the spasms until she stopped. “Don’t be silly,” she said, more softly, curling into his arms. “I should be asking you that. ‘Zeno, what’s wrong?’ with a concerned face… as if you aren’t hurting.”

His face clouded over. For just a moment, she saw a certain kind of darkness. She realized they were getting closer – the man she’d rescued, who’d been starving to death, who’d been in so much pain, would never have allowed even that momentary falter – but it didn’t matter. It was still replaced by that smile. She loved his smile, loved it with all of her aching body, but she hated _that_ smile.

“Today is the day Zeno was born,” he said, using her trick of reminding himself of his name, something he did when he was feeling particularly distant – _or old_ , she thought to herself, although it didn’t make much sense. She opened her mouth to ask, but…

She closed it. Softly. There were questions that you didn’t ask Zeno. ‘How old are you?’ was one of them. She’d made that mistake… how long ago was it? It couldn’t have been long. About this time last year, shortly after they’d met. He hadn’t spoken for two days and barely eaten, though he still did his work without complaint. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and she forced him to look at her.

“We’ll spend it together,” she said. “You can forget how sad you are. It’s the least I can do for you.”

And there it was – that other smile, the one she lived for these days even when the cough was so bad she couldn’t move and blood spattered the floor in front of her. It was so surprised, always surprised – as if in that moment he was only just remembering he was capable of smiling for real, every time. She let him help her to her feet, and hold her close, and whisper ‘thank you’ in her ear, and then she was dragging him after her, out into the meadows. They watched the leaves beginning to change – they spent a day by the stream. Zeno told her stories of long ago, of when the country was founded, grand tales of dragons and kings that were fantastic and impossible and that he wove as if he were there. She told him that he should write the stories down – everyone knew the legend, of course, but the way he spun the story it could almost be true. He laughed and smiled and told them that he would write as many down as he could remember, but they were all made up anyway.

He cooked them both a meal so that she didn’t have to, and the house was warm with the fire as he brought her the bowl. They huddled close, and laughed, and he sang songs from the places he’d been and promised her that someday, maybe, he might tell her more stories, of how he’d come to know them. She refused, on a day that was supposed to be happy, to be his, to remind him that he might never have the chance.

Night fell and the stars came out and he bundled her up in the thickest clothing they owned so he could take her out to see them, and oh, the stories he told about each constellation, how they got into the sky and how they found their names. Then it was time for them to sleep and neither of them wanted the day to be over as they crawled together into bed, Zeno keeping her warm with his small body, wrapping arms around her that were surprisingly strong, always.

“Zeno will remember Kaya forever,” he whispered to her. “I’ll never… never forget today. Never ever.”

She laced her fingers with his wild mane and sighed, burying her face in his chest. She’d long since given up fearing that she would make him sick. He wouldn’t listen – and he never did get sick.

Never ever.

“Someday you’ll have to tell me how old you are,” she whispered softly. “But not right now.”

“Maybe next year.”

“Maybe next year.”

And then she was asleep softly in his arms.

But of course.

Next year never came.

Kaya’s illness turned worse in the spring. When summer came, he thought she might recover. The air was drier in the summer, and the warmth did her bones good. But Fall came early and heavy that next year. As July died among the early, bitter winds, it took Kaya with it, its last prize as the leaves began to turn.

He stayed. He stayed with her, and buried her by the house, in a grave that it seemed like he’d dug within his own soul. As the day they’d been looking so forward to came around again, he sat by that grave and screamed to the heavens. He told her every story he could think of and more, told her how he’d learned every song, if he could remember. Told her that every tale of the dragons and Hiryuu was true, and swore he’d write them down for her. He whispered to her grave that he was sorry – but he couldn’t tell her how old he was. Not really. This year and every year, he’d be seventeen, because all the centuries had lost so much meaning that he’d lost his age somewhere in the shuffle.

But he would remember that night, because there were things, like his birthday, that he would never forget.

And he kept that promise. Even when the dragons reunited and lived and laughed and learned together, even when he had a patch of bright red hair to follow behind again, even when the others begged and pleaded and cajoled until he finally gave up and told them the date, he could never forget the birthday he’d spent with _that special someone._

**Author's Note:**

> So I wasn't going to write this but then a lot of people told me I should so I did and I'm both sorry and not sorry and I'm going to go crawl into a hole and die of feels now.


End file.
